


Natural High

by Jasryl



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Community: badbadbathhouse, Hand Jobs, M/M, Tickling, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Watersports, pwp like whoa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-23
Updated: 2011-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-18 21:14:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jasryl/pseuds/Jasryl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fun fact: Souji's ticklish. Dojima swoops in for the kill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Natural High

**Author's Note:**

> For a [bathhouse prompt](http://badx2bathhouse.livejournal.com/543.html?thread=203039#t203039).  
> 
>
>> kinks: tickling, watersports
>> 
>> prompt: dojima tickles either souji or yosuke till he wets his pants, then masturbates him through his wet pants.

Inside the Dojima residence, the room is illuminated more by the TV's sound than its glow. Souji glances up from his spot on the floor and is met with a familiar sight-- Nanako's pigtails, slanted in thought. To her right, Dojima-san sits, face obscured by newspaper. Souji returns to the book he's reading too, rotating on his side to a more comfortable position. His feet brush his uncle's, both bare, by accident. He shivers, apologizes. A minute passes. He flips the page. Again, a sole swept by toes. A chilly shock runs through him, and he tenses until the static escapes. One of the new Junes commercials air, sparking Dojima-san to mention they're overdo for a visit. Nanako cheers, beginning a fresh round of the catchy jingle. Souji prepares to happily finish with her, but can't. Pure air beats down each word, sinking them back into the party starting in his tummy. He moves his foot away. Or rather, tries to. His arch undergoes more harassment until he finally pulls his knees up, tools for walking out of reach. He flings his uncle a shy glance, sprinkled with amusement, before returning to his reading.

His attention abandons him this time by Dojima-san's arms encircling his nephew and his new home on the floor. "Paper's the same as yesterday's. What have you got here? Anything interesting?" Souji tells him it's just a school assignment. "All right, then. Guess I'm outta luck. Well, let's see what they have you kids studying nowadays." He says that, but after a couple minutes, Souji feels someone's gaze sneaking off the page and onto his face. He tries concentrating. It fails, and he moves to turn a page, despite not finishing. Something critters past his side, and his fingers slip, the pages flitting past without control. It subsides soon after, only a memory lingering. His imagination, maybe? But as he goes to reclaim his spot, a spirit glides over the opposite side. His hands abandon the book at this jolt as a chuckle plays against his neck. Souji sees the trap, but not a single way out. He's not sure he wants one.

Then it begins. The aggressive touches that don't even linger a second, but come in swarms, sending his body into almost-spasms. And there are words, next to his ear, that he can't _hear,_ for the sensations are too loud. But he feels them, tickling in a small, distracting way. At first, he's relieved when a hand frees up his left edges, naively thinks he's granted reprieve to breathe. All hope is seized moments later; the unforgiving hand removes his lid on laughter by sliding its tactics onto his inner thighs. He can't help that it's a quiet sound-- or so it seems to him, muted by the equally noiseless world around. But it must be-- Dojima-san's moved closer to hear. And he likes it that way, wouldn't want to disturb Nanako, although, she seems so oblivious to the situation behind her. Even that concern fades from his mind as he lets go, no gravity to cling onto as reality falls away.

The blanks in Souji's vision begin to fill in, and his presence once again has a place. Everything is how he left it-- buzzers on the TV, a warm embrace, wetness between his legs. ...Nevermind, that last detail isn't familiar at all, and this new state alerts him to additional changes. For instance, the hand once squeezed between his knees, now moved onto his fly, thumb teasing a sensitive, but not necessarily _ticklish_ spot. Color drains from his face as he realizes he's only now growing hard. It rushes right back into his cheeks while he grips Dojima-san's wrist. Surely he mustn't believe... It's not even the same texture, so he can't...

He wants to explain, because he likes it when they do these things, but he doesn't need to. His lobe is met by a soothing tongue, trailing hot bites in its wake. He relaxes, and relinquishes his grasp at the gentle circles drawn on the back of his palm. His heart skips from walk to jog, spurred by unexplored waves.

He waits for the start, a minute or two, and Souji wonders if his uncle reconsidered. No, the strokes that materialize are merely slow, soft. He does his best not to think about it, but the _thump thump_ inside his chest quickens, because the fabric is _sticking_ to him. His pants tighten, pewter eyes hiding behind their lids in response. It's not the current situation doing this, he reminds himself, just the everyday action. And Dojima-san knows that too. He wouldn't get the wrong idea, assume he likes it _this_ way... Right?

A quiet, but audible inhale ruffles his hair, raising the hairs on his neck, and burying small fears in his skull. Sight, touch, both are fine, unavoidable reasons to know. But not smell, he doesn't want his...accident to be obvious from scent alone. Because they're powerful, and linger afterwards. _Which is how Teddie found out about them first, and now the whole Team knows._

"Can you... haah... smell m-my..." He's spared the embarrassment of finishing aloud. Except the answer, _yes_ drives every blood cell south for some reason, and his pulse fights harder. WIth his eyes closed like this, he could be naked, exposed and fully vulnerable to probing eyeballs.

"And everything else." His uncle's low voice explodes against the boy's open nerves. He's not sure how his tongue can grace his skin, clean away the beads of sweat and get tangled in his hair-- the surface must be scorching, because he hasn't felt so hot inside since he stepped in the bathhouse. That infernal heat, which made him delirious and stirred up thoughts he only elected appropriate in private, couldn't be compared to now.

Breathless, there's nothing to stop a moan from straying its playpen. Souji focuses just enough to watch Nanako as her attention divides. He makes to cover his mouth, but finds himself gently restrained. A yawn of awakened excitement pours over him; he obeys and muffles the following groan by sealed lips alone. But it's not enough. Nanako's ear tilts back more, and Souji would pray right now if the thumb sliding beneath his waistband to trace his hip bone over and over wasn't erasing every useful bit of thought by the second.

His unsent prayers are answered at the next slip up regardless, when Nanako merely grabs her remote and hikes the volume up. Relief never sets in, overruled by the circles around his covered tip swirling faster. A steady batch of droplets slide down his length after being denied admittance to an already saturated fabric. Souji wants to melt into the floor, sure his uncle wouldn't want _another_ substance clinging to his fingers. But he's wrong-- must be, as one of those calloused fingers chases every line of precum. His momentary shyness dissolves into passion.

Thrusting into the offered hand is all Souji can manage, not a thought in his mind. His uncle's hard, a fact he's reminded of every time he springs back and rubs that arousal. He needs more, more, _more_ , and can only release a dry sob as he's given less, less, _less_. No words, coherent or otherwise, form to speak, so he can't even ask. He begs with his body instead, clumsily throwing a hand back, slopping all over the discreet erection.

Maybe it's not what he wants, by the lack of reaction. But considering anything else, even how to do this well, becomes an eel-like notion-- impossible to hold. Dojima-san's dirty digits cup his cheek unhelpfully, but he attempts listening.

"You're not enjoying this." His thumb wanders, pulling down the boy's bottom lip. "Are you?" Souji nods vigorously, but now the index finger is lazy, exploring the roof of his mouth. "Really?" It's hard to keep his tongue in check, keep it from wrapping that small shaft,because it's coated in so many things and spit isn't on the list. Yet. "Show me how much."

Commands. So used to giving them makes receiving such a rare treat. He's fixated on this one, reclaiming his eager hand to give himself the pleasure he's been deprived. His pants aren't just damp, they're _soaked_ , half-way to his knees because he doesn't wear underwear, not since this started and his uncle commented about liking how willing, how _easy_ his nephew is. He's glad for that today, not sure he could endure two layers. His touches are tentative at first, until his fingers are moist and ready. Then he's pressing hard, like he could rip the fabric, and he wishes that would happen because he's lost every shred of sanity and would be content in the living room, bottomless, with his head spinning like this-- explain later with some half-baked excuse and hope for the best. He can't even work himself properly, simply gripping at whatever's near-- thigh, floor, dick-- it makes no difference because he still isn't there yet, but damn if he doesn't taste the horizon.

He's under his uncle's expectant gaze, can feel it drinking every action faster than last night's six pack. He's jerking off behind a gradeschooler's back. He's so horny it hurts. Yet, to be so filthy? His conscious growls in shame, but he can't help it, doesn't want to, and the moan rumbling against his ear only encourages this abomination. He barely manages to suppress a scream at the ghosting beneath his ribs. So close! But he can't take it any longer. He needs to come. Now. His tongue slides across parted lips, the same places Dojima-san's-- And his hand creeps toward the waist band, craving direct contact with the swollen, feverish, _wet_ skin beneath. He doesn't make it, could almost cry when Dojima-san grabs his wrist like a criminal and places it back on top. He hisses, enjoying the consolation prize possibly more-- a quick pinch and squeeze of his balls. His uncle continues rolling them between his index and thumb while Souji controls his moans. His arm is on high drive, so much that the friction starts to burn. But he's happy, because each split second of pain releases a sliver of euphoria, and he's starting to see the whole picture. The picture must not be in this realm, because his eyes are open but so flooded with arousal all they see is white. And his sense of touch is electrifying, from his toes against the floor to the heavy breath on his cheek. He moves faster, but it's the tickling against his cage that fades the white to black.

All his senses return, and the room is so much louder than before, more vibrant. Under his palm is hot, sticky, and with Dojima-san's hand a shadow behind, they both feel his mess. The next five minutes are filled with Souji simmering, and drifting by sleep. The TV shuts off, and Nanako mentions they were so loud, she missed the final question. Dojima-san apologizes, volunteers to be handicapped in the game of her choice, and she hurries off to get one. It's quiet. Souji shuts his eyes again and...

"It's seeping into the tatami."

Snaps up, checking the mats. Kind laughter makes its way over to him.

"Only joking." Souji isn't so sure. "I'll go help Nanako." He stands, "You clean up..." offers advice, "Or not, if you want an even messier part two later." and leaves him alone to ponder that. He's already drenched in four different substances. Does he want to make it five, six, seven, or more? Three letters: y-e-s.


End file.
